


Who's Dreaming Who?

by fleurdeliser, tuesdaysgone



Series: Timey-Wimey 'verse [2]
Category: Comics RPF, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, M/M, Time Travel, Timey-Wimey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 18:24:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurdeliser/pseuds/fleurdeliser, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaysgone/pseuds/tuesdaysgone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>‘Sometimes you wonder, in an interconnected universe, who’s dreaming who?’</i>
</p>
<p>In which Grant Morrison finally gets to write his episode of Doctor Who, and the TARDIS has a mind of her own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who's Dreaming Who?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tabulaxrasa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tabulaxrasa/gifts).



> Sometimes there are accidental sequels. Thanks to tabulaxrasa for looking this over! Title, and the quote it comes from, taken from Animal Man Vol 2: Origin of the Species by you-know-who.

There are a lot of good things about it, but Grant thinks the best thing about writing an episode of Doctor Who is that the door to the TARDIS set is painted to look like the door to the TARDIS, so it really is bigger on the inside. Okay, the actual best part is that he gets to _visit_ the set. 

It's a dream come true, sure, but a part of him also hasn't forgotten what happened to his boys when they visited this very set two years ago. When Grant steps into the police box like they did, nothing happens. He tries not to be disappointed. Perhaps the magic already did what it needed to and will work no more. 

He forgets everything when he steps onto the set being used that day and listens to Matt and Jenna speak the words he wrote. He forgets everything else for a long while, actually. This is such a rush. He makes a mental note to email Neil as soon as he can and tease him. That makes him idly remember that he'd never asked Neil if he'd noticed anything weird about the TARDIS, either. 

They're wrapping up for the day and Grant lingers by the TARDIS controls. Every knob and every switch works, and he spends a few moments flipping things back and forth, turning other things, and pushing the hand pump. A light flashes and he blinks at the brightness. When he opens his eyes again, something is different. 

Actually, everything is different. And he's outside, which is bloody inconvenient because it's freezing and he's just wearing a suit coat over a t-shirt. At least he knows where he is. He's been in the pub across the street a number of times when he's come to this part of London. He's just starting toward the pub when a voice calls to him, "Hey! Do I know you?" 

Grant's breath catches in his throat and he turns. There's Frank, a few feet down an alley. He's wearing a white shirt and tie and smoking a cigarette. "Not yet," he replies. 

It was only a matter of time. The only real question in Grant's mind, as soon as the TARDIS had whisked him away, was which one of them he'd find. Frank, apparently. And his outfit and two-toned red Mohawk answer the 'when' part of the question pretty well. He knows Frank's hair changed often back then and he knows this was his hair when they filmed the Helena video. Given that it's so cold, Grant figures it was fairly soon after. 

"Grant Morrison," Grant says, holding out his hand. "Should I know you?" 

"Nah," Frank says. "But I do know you. Of you." He blows a stream of smoke out of the corner of his mouth away from Grant, sticks the cigarette between his lips and shakes. The light catches on the nose and lip rings Frank had at the time and Grant nearly moans at the sight. They were a good look for him.

"Delighted to hear it," Grant says. "What are you doing loitering in an alley looking like a rent boy?" 

Frank tips his head against the brick and laughs. "I'm in a band. We just played a show in there. Wanted some fresh air and a smoke." 

"Would I know the band?" Grant asks. 

"Probably not," Frank replies. "My Chemical Romance." 

"That is an excellent name," Grant says. 

Frank grins. "That's what Gerard always says. Fuck, he would cream his jeans if he knew you were out here. So I'm not gonna tell him," he finishes in a truculent tone. 

Grant raises an eyebrow. "And Gerard is?" 

"Lead singer of the band," Frank replies. 

"What else is he?" 

"An asshole," Frank says. 

"Are we talking John and Paul or Meg and Jack?" Grant asks. 

"Man, if I knew, maybe this would be fucking easier," Frank replies and takes a long drag off his cigarette. Grant watches him for a minute, wishing he smoked himself so he could bum one and prolong this. He could have sworn his boys were already together at this point, but maybe he's wrong. And as he watches he decides that Frank is definitely more than a little drunk, although he's hiding it well at the moment. 

"You know what? If he's gonna fuckin' draw and blast music in his fucking headphones and ignore me all night, I'm going to have a drink with Grant Morrison," Frank says after a minutes and stubs his cigarette against the wall. 

"Are you?" Grant asks. "Having a drink with me?" 

"I'm buying you a drink," Frank corrects. "And whether or not you put out is up to you. I'm a gentleman like that." Grant just has to laugh. "I'm Frank," he says as he pushes off the wall. "Frank Iero." 

"Pleasure to meet you, Frank," Grant replies. He has to stop himself from any number of little habitual touches that he usually does automatically when walking with Frank anywhere. "Across the street, then?" Grant asks. "It's a good pub. Quiet. Not too quiet." Grant - well, the version of himself that is supposed to be in this time - is no stranger to the raves and dance clubs either, but he's mellowed over time. 

"Sounds good to me," Frank replies. 

"And they have a decent food selection. And I say that as a vegetarian," Grant adds. 

"Me too," Frank says, and Grant hides a smile. He knows. And Frank looks thin, like he's been choosing drinking over eating a little too much. Frank - his Frank - would laugh at him for fussing. But he can't help it. Part of him wants to sneak back down that alley and find Gerard too, coax him away from his headphones and his sketch pad. But no. That's not how they're supposed to meet. This isn't how he and Frank are supposed to meet either, but Grant can't help himself. 

"Big ball of wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff," he mutters as they walk into the pub. 

"What?" Frank asks. 

"Nothing, just muttering to myself. So you played a show? I assume that went well?" 

Frank smiles big and wide. "Yeah, it was great. The kids here love us. They have from the beginning. Touring is messy and long and boring and there's never any privacy but the shows..." Frank trails off and smiles. "Shit, I'm boring. You. You're not boring." 

Grant laughs. "I assure you, I can be very boring indeed. Writing mostly means sitting in a room in front of a computer. Besides, while I've toured much of the world, it's never been as a rock star." 

"I'm supposed to say it's overrated, but it's the only thing I've ever wanted to do," Frank says. "The guys are my family." 

The bartender takes their order and Grant looks at Frank and raises an eyebrow. "Even when they're assholes?" 

Frank rolls his eyes. "Yeah, even then. I just...." 

"The one you're talking about... Gerard? He's different, yes?" Grant prompts. 

"That's one way of putting it," Frank snorts. 

"Well, do you want to fuck him or not?" Grant asks bluntly. Frank takes a drink of the beer set in front of him. "Or do you want white picket fences and to adopt babies from China?" 

"I don't want to talk about him," Frank says, taking another sip. 

"All right, we'll talk about something else. You said you knew who I was. What brought about this knowledge?" Grant asks. 

"I'm a fan. Of Batman, of comics, of you. And Gee pretty much did nothing but talk about your Doom Patrol for like, the first year I knew him. And like...you know you're sort of distinctive-looking, right, Grant?" 

Grant smirks. "That was the point, I must admit. So Frank who is a fan, what's your favorite?" 

"We3," Frank replies. "It made me cry," he admits in a quieter tone. 

Grant knows it makes Frank cry, every time he reads it. And then he demands hugs every time. "It made me cry writing it," Grant says. 

"But I like everything else too. Gee's right. Doom Patrol is totally great. And I totally have a crush on King Mob," Frank says with a grin. "He's just so damn cool." 

Grant smirks. "Do you really?" 

Frank leans back against the bar and crosses his arms over his chest. "Is that a problem?" 

"Not at all. Shall I tell you why I started dressing like King Mob, back in the nineties, Frank?" 

"Why did you start dressing like King Mob back in the nineties?" Frank asks, almost like he's challenging Grant, and sips his beer. 

"It was a bit of magic," Grant says easily. "I found that the things that happened to King Mob, happened to me. So naturally I wrote him getting laid as often as possible." 

Frank tips his head back and laughs. "And it worked?" 

"It worked _extremely_ fucking well," Grant says. He gives Frank the seductive little smirk he knows will get a reaction from Frank. 

"I don't know if I believe in magic," Frank drawls. 

"Perhaps a practical demonstration is required?" Grant asks. 

"Are you hitting on me, Mr. Morrison?" 

"If you can't tell, I've lost my touch," Grant sighs, though his stomach is in knots. This is surely wrong, but oh, how he wants it. And Frank may be drunk, but he's not too drunk to know his own mind. Grant knows the difference. 

He suddenly realizes that perhaps _he_ was the impetus for their relationship. Maybe something he says or does now is what drives them together. He chuckles. No pressure. 

Frank polishes off his beer. "Am I funny?" 

"You are extremely amusing, I'm sure. Mostly I was laughing at myself," Grant says and reaches out to squeeze Frank's arm. Frank stares down at Grant's hand and then up at his face, and a smirk slowly curves his lips. 

"You're definitely hitting on me." 

"Yes, in fact," Grant replied. "I am." 

"What did you have in mind?" Frank drawls. "I've got some time before anybody misses me." A bitter look crosses his face then, and Grant slides his hand further up Frank's arm. 

"Let me blow you in the bathroom," Grant suggests directly in his ear. Frank makes a pleased little noise. Usually, Grant thinks, it's the other way around with him. And Frank fucking loves cocksucking so it's usually not a big deal, but right now, perhaps, this is the key. He gets up off the barstool and lets his hand drift down Frank's shoulder to his side. "I'll be waiting." 

Grant reaches the washroom door and peeks inside. Not completely disgusting, and vacant. The gods are smiling. He starts counting, gauging what he knows of Frank's patience. He gets to thirty-seven when Frank slips through the door. Grant steps close and locks the door behind him. "Frank Iero," Grant murmurs. "I'm going to kiss you now." 

Frank looks expectant. Grant knows he's about half a second from a smart remark, so he leans in and cuts it off before it can leave his lips. The press of the lip ring is strange, but the lips themselves are so very familiar. It feels so good that Grant forgets himself and kisses Frank like he's done it a million times before, stroking his tongue along Frank's and pressing his thumb against the spot on Frank's neck that drives him wild. 

Frank pulls back with a gasp. "How are you so good at this?" 

"Would you believe time travel?" Grant jokes weakly. 

Frank just laughs. "Sure, magic man." 

Grant doesn't argue, just leans in and kisses Frank again. It is, after all, one of his favorite activities. 

"Is this all of your mouth you're gonna give me?" Frank teases the next time they pull apart. 

"So impatient," Grant murmurs. "If we were anywhere other than a pub bathroom, perhaps I'd make you wait." And there's another thing he'd tell his Frank. 

"You wouldn't want to wait too long. I'm a pretty fucking good lay," Frank tells him. Grant has to laugh and kiss him once more before folding down to his knees. Frank bites his lip and Grant gets to work on Frank's belt buckle and the button and zip to his tight, black jeans. It's not easy. He loves his boys in their loose off-tour clothes, but thinking about their stage clothes always makes his mouth water. Like now. 

As soon as he gets the fly undone, Grant reaches in and cups the bulge of Frank's cock. Frank moans and Grant smirks. He tugs Frank's jeans down his thighs, pulls his briefs down and watches his cock pop out from the confines of his pants and curve up toward the right. Grant loves Frank's cock so much. His whole body, really. He wishes he could strip Frank naked and take inventory, see what art is missing from his skin, if there are any scars that have faded or are new to his Frank. 

"Fuckin' unbelievable," Frank groans, ending with a whine as Grant licks a stripe up the underside of his cock. He sucks lightly at the head and slides his tongue over the slit. Frank gasps and his hands reach out to cup the back of Grant's head. 

_My boy,_ Grant thinks, _mine._ Although he's not, not yet. Fuck, it's good that Grant can't talk, who knows what he'd say. He misses them like mad. But they're on the road again and he's here making a dream come true. He can't deny how glad he is that he can steal these moments with Frank. 

Perhaps when he's done, he'll buy a ticket and fly to them. Travel with them for a few days before going back home. That thought reminds him with a start that he's not home, not at all, and he has no idea how long he'll even be here. He redoubles his efforts on Frank's cock, uses all the dirty little tricks he knows to make Frank lose it. "Oh fuck, do that again," Frank gasps and Grant does, fighting back a laugh. One of the first times he sucked Frank off, Frank begged for that. And now Grant realizes that perhaps he'd prompted himself to do it, in a roundabout way. 

He keeps sucking, adding a hand to his mouth and stroking, urging Frank's orgasm with all he can. It doesn't take long, all told, before Frank gasps his name and starts coming. Grant swallows around him, taking in everything. "Fuck," Frank gasps, slumping a little. Grant pushes himself to his feet to catch him, and Frank grabs a handful of his shirtfront and kisses him again, lazy, messy. Then Frank reaches for the front of Grant's jeans. 

Grant moans and helps Frank get his trousers open, then nearly sighs with relief when Frank wraps a hand around his cock. He hasn't felt any hands but his own since his boys left on tour. Fuck, he misses them. 

"You're gorgeous, Frank," he whispers. He leans back against the wall, runs his fingers through the long fringe of Frank's hair. "This looks good on you." 

Frank strokes Grant's cock, rubs his thumb over the head. "Thanks. It's a bitch to maintain, though." 

"Your hair grows fast," Grant murmurs back. It's not quite a question. Frank's hand feels sinful, looks strange with only half the tattoos Grant knows. He likes it though, likes the way Frank is tentative about some things, just as he was when they first got together. Likes the look of concentration on his face that he doesn't see often anymore because his Frank has had so much practice at this. "Does he like your hands? Your lead singer, does he moan for you?" Grant says. 

"No," Frank whispers. "I wish he did." 

"Then you should ask him," Grant murmurs. "Tell him how you feel. Perhaps he gets caught up in his own head sometimes and fails to see what should be obvious." 

"Sometimes?" Frank laughs. "More like always." He twists his hand and it's Grant's turn to groan. He adds his fingers to Frank's, mostly just to feel him. "You always try to hook up strangers during handjobs, Mr. Morrison?" 

"Only if they're really good ones," Grant says with a laugh and a groan, thunking his head back against the wall. 

"Is it good?" Frank whispers against Grant's throat, licking over the bare skin. "I hope so." 

"So fucking good," Grant moans. 

"Good," Frank whispers and keeps moving his hand. His strokes have grown firmer and he wraps his free hand around the back of Grant's neck, pulls him back down for a kiss. And that's how Grant comes, with one of his boys' lips and hands on him. Always his boys, whether this is an alternate reality or simply an earlier time. They are his through all of them, and he is theirs. If Grant believes anything, it is that. 

He barely manages to stop himself from telling Frank he loves him. Instead, he pulls Frank close, kisses him slowly, thoroughly, with all the feeling he can't actually express. Frank clings for a moment, like he just needed the support of someone's arms. Grant reaches out to cup his cheek, lets his thumb drift over the lip ring when Frank pulls away. He goes to wash his hands and peers back over his shoulder. 

"Are you so romantic with all of your one-night-stands?" 

"Well... yes," Grant says. "Everyone deserves a little love. I don't have as many as people think, though." 

"Me neither," Frank says, drying his hands on his jeans and working on his button and zip. "Another band dude myth debunked." 

Grant laughs. _I know,_ he might say to that. "I like you," he says instead. 

Frank grins at him. "I kinda like you too. Thanks for... it was good. To. Yeah. Thanks." 

"Go talk to your Gerard," he murmurs. "If there's anything I've learned, there's no point in wasting time with things that are important." 

Frank smiles. "I just might. But I can never tell him about this, he'd shit a brick." 

Grant laughs. "Very well. If I should ever chance to meet you two again... This never happened." 

"But it did," Frank says, tugging Grant in for one more kiss. Then he winks. "See ya if I see ya." 

Grant smiles. "Get out of here. Have a good night, Frank Iero of My Chemical Romance." 

Frank exits the bathroom and Grant gives it a minute before he follows. He wonders when this will end. When he will find himself back in front of the TARDIS console on set. He walks out of the pub and crosses the street, checking his stride when he hears voices in the alleyway where he'd first seen Frank. 

He stops, peers down the alley. It's full of vehicles now, a couple of large vans full of boxes and equipment. The voices are familiar, too. 

"We were worried sick," Gerard is saying. "Is a drink worth it, Frank?" 

"I wasn't off getting wasted, Gee. I had one drink and some fucking conversation. Which I wasn't getting from you anyway. I'm surprised you even noticed I was gone." 

"I always notice." Gerard's voice is quiet and hurt, and all of Grant's instincts want to make that tone go away immediately. 

"You could have fooled me," Frank snaps and then sighs heavily. "Sorry. I'm sorry." 

"Frank," Gerard says. 

"The guys are waiting," Frank replies. 

"Let them wait," Gerard tells him. The voices get louder, and suddenly Grant can see them too, stopping and standing close by the bumper of the hindmost van. He steps back automatically, peering around the corner. Gerard does look tired. He has a smudge of something all down his cheek, too. "I always notice," Gerard repeats. 

"Okay?" Frank says. "You notice. I was wrong about that. I sometimes forget you're Mister Safety." 

"Frankie, no I mean. I notice _you_." 

"That makes it worse," Frank answers. "If you've noticed, and done nothing." 

Gerard laughs a little. "You're the brave one, Frank." 

"No," Frank answers. "No, that's you too." 

Grant bites his lip. How long can he stand here unnoticed, listening to his boys fling their hearts at each other? 

Gerard steps close to Frank, pulls his hands out of his hoodie pockets and puts them on Frank's waist. "I wasn't sure. Until recently. And then I was nervous." 

Grant smiles. Yes, they'll sort themselves out. 

"I'll take back the brave part," Frank warns him. "Gee...." he adds beseechingly, and Grant's not sure which of them leans in for the kiss - it could have been both of them - but they are kissing, and he could watch that forever but this is, of course, when he feels the funny dizzy spinning sensation of... whatever it is. 

He opens his eyes and he's back on set. Grant laughs. "You really are sexy," he murmurs and pats the console. "I hope you'll excuse me, but I have a phone call to make."

He can't even wait to get back to his hotel, just pulls out his mobile in the cab and calls Frank. He's not entirely sure where they are or what time it is there, but Frank answers on the second ring. 

"Hey, gorgeous. How are you?" 

"I miss you," Grant tells him. "Where are you today?" 

"We're... somewhere between Vegas and Denver. I could be more exact, but that would require me to get out of my bunk," Frank replies. "Also, I miss you too. Are you having fun?" 

"I am having a lot of fun. I had a lot more fun than I really expected, tonight." 

"Did you?" Frank asks. "What'd you do?" 

"Oh, you know. Traveled back in time and chatted up a pretty boy in an alley," Grant replies casually. 

Frank makes a strangled noise. "I. You. Fuck, Grant." Apparently Frank does remember. 

"Did you ever tell Gerard about it?" he asks quietly. 

"Never. After a while I was sort of convinced I had dreamed it. And you never said...and I never fucking ever thought it was because... Fucking time travel!" 

"Wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey," Grant agrees seriously, and Frank snorts out a sudden laugh. 

"That's what you said that night! You asshole!" 

"That night is now, for me. Not five minutes ago, I watched you and Gerard share your first proper kiss in an alley in London. You had a lip ring," Grant says. 

"Fucking unbelievable," Frank breathes. He's silent for a moment and Grant thinks perhaps he's picturing another night, another first. 

"I miss you," he repeats. "I want to come meet the tour." 

" _Please_ ," Frank practically begs. 

"I need to finish here, but then I'm catching the first flight to wherever you are," he promises. 

"Good. Because I owe you a pretty fucking amazing blowjob." 

"You mean besides all the other amazing blowjobs you've given me?" Grant teases. 

"It'll be better," Frank replies. "We gonna tell Gerard?" he adds quietly. 

Grant hears an _oof_ from Frank and Gerard says, "Tell me what?" over the line. 

"Grant's coming to see us," Frank replies. 

"Good, I miss you," Gerard says. "Aren't you supposed to be doing Whovian things right now?" 

"I am. Done tomorrow and then I'm flying out. Being here and remembering everything that happened made me miss you more than I can say," Grant says. 

"So actions are going to speak louder than words?" Gerard sounds thrilled. Grant wonders if they should tell him, decides it's sort of up to Frank. 

"Precisely," Grant says. "I love you." 

"I love you too," Gerard replies. Grant can hear the smile in his voice. "So, anything weird happen with any set pieces?" Gerard asks. 

"Funny you should ask," Grant says. "I thought not, until my very last moments on set." 

"And then?" 

"And then I blinked and I was on a street in London instead of Cardiff and it was early 2005," Grant murmurs. 

"Well, that doesn't sound very exciting," Gerard says. 

"That's what I thought, until this young punk with a crazy red and black Mohawk spoke to me." 

"I thought he looked familiar," Frank says. "Turns out, I was right." 

"You met Grant before me?" he hears Gerard say to Frank, incredulous. 

"I guess I did now," Frank replies. 

"Oh, he met me all right," Grant murmurs. 

"You _fucked_ Grant before me?" Gerard yelps. 

"Only a little bit," Frank replies with a giggle. "You fucked him without me the first time." 

"Fair," Gerard says after a moment. 

"It was that night in London. You know. The one." 

"That one?" Gerard asks, wondering. "Oh, man." 

"Yeah," Frank murmurs. "He basically _told_ me to go talk to you." 

"And you did," Gerard whispers. 

"And I did," Frank says. 

"It was only twenty minutes ago for me," Grant reminds them. 

"Grant," Gerard murmurs. 

"Well, then you've seen us more recently than we've seen you," Frank comments smartly. Typical. 

"I love you," Grant says again. "Give me forty-eight hours and I'll be wherever you are." 

"Denver," Gerard says helpfully. "Day off tomorrow, show the next night. Backstage passes for famous writers." 

"I'll call from various points, I'm sure," Grant says. 

"Have fun tomorrow," Gerard says. "Tell the Doctor hi for me." 

Grant laughs. "I'm sure Matt will be thrilled to know people actually think he's the Doctor." He says goodbye and hangs up and for some reason catches the cabdriver's eye. "I'm going to wager that's not the craziest conversation you've ever heard," Grant says easily. 

"Oh, definitely not," the man replies enthusiastically. "Honestly, I think one of the weirdest conversations I ever heard was on a transport near Calrissia." 

"Excuse me?" Grant says. 

The cabbie smiles. "Well, to be fair, it is a bit odd that the Calrissians consider offering a pocket-handkerchief flirtatious. Live and learn, eh? Ah! Here we are, safe and sound at your hotel, Mr. Morrison." 

"Thank you," Grant says gravely. That seems safe enough. 

"Sometimes the ol' girl likes to have a bit of fun and does things without my input. Well, all the time, but interfering in the love affairs of various people hardly makes it onto the telly when there's not also some sort of danger to go with it," he says. "I just say 'Geronimo' and do as she wants. Oh! You mean for the ride home. You're welcome!" 

Grant stares. It's just a TV show. He knows it's just a TV show. He's watched them make it. He's written their lines. And this is most certainly not Matt. But... "Good philosophy," he replies. 

"Say hello to your young men for me," comes the reply. 

"I will," Grant promises and lets the door swing shut. He stands on the curb and stares at the cab as it drives off down the street. As he stands there, a giant smile creeps over his face. Gerard is going to lose his mind when he hears about this. And Frank is going to roll his eyes at them both. And Grant wouldn't want it any other way.


End file.
